


youre only human, you make mistakes

by syncopation



Series: i have insomnia [2]
Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Character Death, M/M, Xenophobia, and also background chocobros ot4, background ignis and gladiolus, mentions anyway, twewy au
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-31
Updated: 2017-07-31
Packaged: 2018-12-09 05:41:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,337
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11662764
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/syncopation/pseuds/syncopation
Summary: “You’re over thinking.” Noctis breaks the silence for him and he’s dragged out of his memories, but the foreboding feeling of guilt and self hate stays stubbornly in his gut.“How do you know?” Prompto says, avoiding the subject of what he was over thinking entirely.“Your song gets quieter when you’re getting louder in your own head, ironically.”





	youre only human, you make mistakes

**Author's Note:**

> more twewy au bc i cant get it out of my head
> 
> the title is from "im only human" by rag'n'bone man  
> its a good song

Prompto thought of the city of Insomnia as home, even though he was born in another city in another country. People looked at his blonde hair and blue eyes and sneered at him, dragging their kids away, telling them to avoid people who looked like him. They called him an outsider, even thought he lived his entire life in Insomnia.

He remembers looks of disgust nearly stopped when he dyed his hair pitch black in middle school, letting it grow its way back after seeing the fallen looks his parents gave him when they thought he wasn’t looking. By the end of high school his hair was gold again, he was hated again, but his parents didn’t look at him like he was disgrace as much anymore. Life wasn’t as bad as it was in home, but when he comes back with bruises on his face and the taste blood in his mouth his parents don’t say anything, so he doesn’t know which life was better.

Prompto remembers being bullied for being born in another country as a kid, he should’ve expected to be attack for it when he was an adult.

Taking a bullet wasn’t too bad when adrenalin was pumping through his veins, didn’t hurt as much as it always looked like it did in the action movies and TV shows. Prompto expected to die, and he did.

He didn’t expect to come back.

* * *

“You should like, totally make dinner. Anything but Cup Noodles though, I will break my own legs if I have to eat Cup Noodles again.” Noctis upside down looks pleadingly at Prompto who paused his game. Noctis was lounging on his bed, head off the mattress. He’s still not changed from his pajamas with fish decorated pants, but neither was Prompto with his chocobo decorated ones. His hands come off of his stomach to clap in front of his face in a begging stance, complete with puppy-dogs eyes and pout. Prompto was on the floor of his own apartment because Noctis took the spot on the bed that was the best place to see the TV screen.

“Why’d you eat all of them if you don’t need to eat in the first place?” Prompto questions him, brows knit in accusation, but he still gets up and walks to the kitchen to cook because that was the kind of person he was.

“It’s the thought behind it that counts.” Prompto didn’t see or hear Noctis get up, but there he was sitting on his counter, finger pointing as his temple.

“I think that’s the logic for shitty gifts, dude.” Prompto playfully slaps the side of his arm and sets to make frozen nuggets in his oven.

“No it isn’t. I work with the thoughts behind everything, trust me.” Noctis arches his hand over his chest and narrows his eyes at Prompto, leaning forward with a ‘ _I know everything_ ’ kind of tone in his voice.

“Oh shit, you never talk about work unless we asked you first, must be serious.”

“Completely.”

The banter was nice, distracting enough that Prompto almost forgets that he’s hanging out with the god of the city, making dinosaur shaped chicken nuggets for him. The fill the space with small chat and light shoves until they’re done, moving to the table in the conjoined space.

The food’s polished off quickly between the two of them, plate left and forgotten in the sink for the next time Ignis shows up to make sure Prompto hasn’t made a complete mess of his home yet, and they sit in a comfortable silence, not bothering to move back to the bedroom. It isn’t comfortable for long for Prompto because he’s realized that it’s too quiet and to distract himself he lets his mind wander away, from what he did today to what he did yesterday and falling onto what he did years ago, running from the world that hates him.

“You’re over thinking.” Noctis breaks the silence for him and he’s dragged out of his memories, but the foreboding feeling of guilt and self hate stays stubbornly in his gut.

“How do you know?” Prompto says, avoiding the subject of what he was over thinking entirely.

“Your song gets quieter when you’re getting louder in your own head, ironically.”

Prompto hums in responses and stares at the floor, and that was that. He knows he was stuck in his own head, but Noctis doesn’t ask. He never does anything, but Prompto knows that _he_ already knows, because he knows everything. He’ll never ask questions unless Prompto actually wants him to ask, and he doesn’t know if he wants him to.

‘ _Indecisiveness is what I love about humans._ ’ Noctis has said before when Ignis had asked him why he bothers with keeping track of an entire capital city while Gladio struggled to pick a single ice cream flavor for his cone. ‘ _All the Higher Beings are real assholes. Always go the logic route. Humans don’t do that. It’s great, it’s different, and I love it._ ’

“Why’d you bring me back?” Prompto could hear his own question over the noise in his head. “Half the city hate me and glad I died, the other half doesn’t care that I died.” He thinks back to the newpaper reports about a murdered immigrant with blonde hair and blue eyes, and how everyone glossed over it because he didn’t look like them. “No one cared then, and they don’t care now.”

‘ _I should be dead._ ’ Prompto thinks. He’s been thinking that since he came back to life.

‘ _It would be better if I was d-_ ’ Prompto doesn’t finish his own thought because he can’t feel anything at all. The knot in his stomach disappears, but it’s not uplifting. It’s just gone, and Prompto knows it because of Noctis because he’s sitting next to Prompto, his fingers gripping his knee hard enough to turn white and his image is fuzzy, all the rage and sorrow of a god contained in a mortal form.

They sit there like that, Prompto feeling blank and disconnected and Noctis tittering on the edge of this reality, basking in emotions. It’s a minute, or a ten, or an hour before Noctis solidifies and slumps in his seat and the dissociation Prompto feels is shoved out of the way and he’s worrying about Noctis, hands unsure where to go and awkwardly hovering over his body.

“Dude, what the hell!? Are you alright!?” He’s yelling despite Noctis sitting right next to him and watches as Noctis slumps further down.

“Composing for centuries and a twenty year old gets me to nearly lose it.” Prompto hears Noctis mutter and follows when he abruptly stands and go to the bedroom, curling under the thin blanket. He kneels at the side of his own bed, now claimed by the tuft of black hair visible to him. The rough carpet imprints on his knees, but it’s bearable for now so he crosses his arms on the bed and waits.

“You guys make me a mess, you know that?” Noctis says, muffled by fabric. It makes Prompto smile, because it’s something to be proud of. Ruining and perfecting the life of an old god, a feat accomplished by only three men.

“Yeah, I know. I’ll text the other two later to let them know too.” He question hasn’t been answered yet, but if Prompto taps into what it was like to be a dead person playing the Reaper’s Game, he thinks he could hear Noctis’ song playing, twisting around to the thoughts in his head. It’s a few minutes later when Noctis pokes his head out and starts talking, enough time for Prompto begin falling asleep in his arms and knees, face squished uncomfortably against his shoulder.

“I wasn’t supposed to bring you back,” He’s looking away from Prompto, the same way he does when he talks about how his Game works, how he holds everything in Insomnia in his hands. “I wasn’t supposed to bring any of you back.” Noctis sits and against the bare wall, scooting over so Prompto has room to lay down on a bed meant for one person.

“Iggy lost the game entirely, he was supposed to be stripped of his memories and sent to his next life.” Prompto noticed that Noctis always is doing something while he explains macabre topics, like how he’s playing with the edge of the blanket.

“Gladio wanted to become the next Composer after Ignis lost, and...” Prompto watches his jaw tighten and loosen with only the light of TV. Had it gotten so dark outside already? It was only five when the got up for dinner. “You- you know what happened.” Prompto knows what happened, he knows that Gladio never should’ve even thought about becoming Composer, knows that Noctis never wanted to hurt him.

“And you, you were-” Noctis raised his hands and dropped them. Raised them again and dropped again. He once told everyone that he knew every language spoken by anyone whoever stepped in Insomnia, and he didn’t know what to say to Prompto.

“You won. You the Game, you survived a week of hell, and you were supposed to go back, but...” Prompto wanted to ease the teeth off Noctis’ bottom lip, worrying them to the point where he spotted blood but either Noctis didn’t notice or didn’t care, and he continued struggling. “But not everyone who wins always goes back. Sometimes… Sometimes if the person hasn’t changed into someone who could help Insomnia, or was someone who wanted to but just _couldn’t_ help, they’re sent on their way. That’s what happened- what was suppose to happen to you.” He’s finally looking at Prompto now, through the long bangs they always tease him for, calling him an emo nerd. Prompto can look into his eyes, and he swears he could drown in the sadness there.

“I can’t help.” He says it more emotionless than he meant to say it, but he doesn’t know what emotion he wanted to say it with in the first place. “I can’t help.” He saw Noctis’ eyes widen with shock, saying ‘N _o, no, no, that’s not it, no._ ’ even though it was exactly what he said.

“If I can’t help, and Ignis is suppose to be someone else, and Gladio is suppose to be _gone_ , why’d you do it?” Noctis talks about work, talks about his bosses, the Higher Beings, and how they hate anything illogical, that rule breaking could be fatal for anyone, even a Composer in their own domain.

“Be _cause_!” Noctis sounds like a kid trying to prove his point to an adult, lifetimes of feelings bursting for the twenty year old who managed to set him off. “Because I-” He’s looking at Prompto like doing so will make him understand, not used to actually _speaking_ because in higher planes you just play a song and everything is understood in an instant.

“Because you _what_ Noct?” Prompto doesn’t mean to sound accusatory, but expect he really _does._ Noctis is ancient, someone who talks about a world long gone like he lived in it. He can guide masses with puppets on a string, _have_ guided them. He brought three people back from the dead, letting them remember what it was like to _be_ dead, and Prompto knows he love them, but it was fucked up, letting them live, thrusting them back into normal life after a week of fighting and riddles and _breaking_ without so much a proper explanation on _why_ they had come back, not letting them voice whether or not the wanted to even come _back_ to such a shitty world.

It’s a moment before Prompto realizes that oh crap, he thought all of that and oh shit, Noctis can read minds and oh _fuck_ , Noctis isn’t even next to him anymore.

Prompto groans and bangs his head on the wall behind him, sitting in silence and sorting his thoughts. Noctis is gone, the little pull he noticed only after coming back to life signaling that Noctis was tapped into his head unpresent. He knows that if he starts talking he’ll listen because it was his job to, but what to talk about is beyond his reach.

Winging it was a terrible idea, Prompto thinks as he prepares himself to wing it.

“Sorry,” He starts with. “I didn’t mean for it to come out that-uh, that mean, I guess.” He scratches the back of his head, still not used to talking to empty air to talk to Noctis. The air was tense and Prompto sighed and let his eyelids flutter when he physically feel it relax around him.

“You don’t have anything to be sorry about.” Prompto felt like should’ve been ashamed by how he was shocked that Noctis was on the other side of him, knees on the floor and arms crossed on the bed like he was before. “I’m an older than you by a lot, you’d think I can get some truth thrown my way and not cry about it.” Prompto has never seen Noctis cry, didn’t think that there was anything that could make a god cry, but he looked closer and saw that the maybe his eyes were a little more red and puffier than they should’ve been. Another thing a simple twenty year old could do to a Composer. He’s not proud of that accomplishment.

He was about to slip back into his own wallowing self hatred when Noctis mumbled something into the crook of his arm.

“Come again?” Noctis burrows further into his own hair and Prompto huffs his laughter. “I didn’t hear what’cha said, Noct. Need to say it again.” He watched as Noctis’ eye slowly peeked out before shoving back in, watched as he gathered himself. He thought about calling the talk they were having off, thought about using sleepiness as an excuse to shove the conversation off for another time when Noctis started talking.

“I love you.”

Oh.

“I love you a lot, Prompto.”

Oh.

“You make my world, my Insomnia brighter, Prompto.”

He shoves Noctis before he can say more because that wasn’t what he was expecting and he can feel the heat already on his face and neck. Noctis laughs, and its good because a laughing Noctis is cute and it lifts the mood higher.

“I meant everything I just said, y’know.” He dodges the second shove and keeps talking, much to Prompto’s dismay. “I’m over a thousand years old, but I’m shit at learning.” He stands and motions Prompto to scoot over, and sits next to him again, expect this time he’s reaching out and holding his hand.

“I’m a greedy piece of shit. I fall into love with things and people, and when I do I never let go. I don’t think about what might happen to me,” His thumb is stroking Prompto’s entire hand and it doesn’t make him less mad, but it does make him turn his hand around and lace their fingers together. “I only think about what I can do for the things and people I love, so that they could maybe love me back. Love me the way I love them. That’s why I did it, I guess.”

Noctis is smiling down at their hand, and it’s a bittersweet smile, a smile of someone whose lived too long with too much burden weighing them down. The confession makes him look drained, more so than he’s ever seen him. When he looks up and into his eyes, he looks like he’s looking at the grave of someone who’s passed on to the otherside.

“I can give you a better life. Ignis and Gladio, they won’t feel pain. They’ll remember you, I promise, and make you guys meet when you’ve all passed on and it’ll make it as perfect as I can. You won’t-” Noctis is rambling, so close to breaking but still casually talking about killing him and giving him a life where he’s guaranteed not be hated by everyone and murdered in a dark alley.

“You won’t meet me, I promise.”

Oh.

“You fucking bastard.” Prompto wants to strangle him, wonders if it’s possible to strangle someone who’s technically dead already. Noctis is surprised, wonders if he forgot to name something, was to swear that anything, _anything_ else Prompto wanted he will give it to him because he can, because no one can stop him unless an army of Angels come down to stop him but he can’t swear it because Prompto is grabbing him by the shirt and pulling him into a kiss.

The angel is weird, their shoulders are in the way between them, their teeth knocked together, there might be some blood somewhere but Noctis doesn’t know what to do so in Prompto’s book it’s a perfect kiss.

When the breaks away slowly, Noctis doesn’t know what to.

“A life without you isn’t a life I _want_ , you fucking idiot.” He shouln’t get into a habit of calling beings far stronger than him names, but Prompto’s furious and a little sad and needs Noctis to understand that it’s too late to correct his mistake of bringing Prompto back to life like a fucking idiot.

There’s something in Noctis’ eye that sparks and his hand goes to rest on the one gripping his clothes.

“What _do_ you want then.” He can’t read his face anymore, caught between confusion and awe and a pinch of fear and hope.

“I’m a stupid twenty year old, old man, you can’t just ask shit like that.”

Prompto listens for a to pin drop before Noctis bursts out laughing and an actual laugh, so he joins him.

“Theeeere’s my Nocobo.” He releases Noctis’ shirt while he’s still recovering, little giggles still sounding off because that was outrageous, completely outrageous, and that’s why he still bothers with watching over a capital city.

“That was really stupid, you know that?” The air is so much breathable now, the heaviness is still there in the back of the room but it’s ignored for now because Prompto yawns, loud and obnoxious, tired after the emotional roller coaster. They need to resolve what’s between them, need to talk with the others about it, but it can come later. There’s time, there’s hope, and with enough effort there will be music.

Prompto yawns again and hears his jaw pop.

“I’m tired, Noct.” He lays down and reaches for the god of the city he lives in only to find nothing because the bastard is standing at the side of his bed, smiling down at him. Prompto grunts in displeasure, wanting someone to cuddle through the cold night.

“Go to bed, chocobo. I’ve got extra shifts to run.” Noctis threads his fingers through his hair and it feels nice but it wasn’t as nice as having him laying down next to him.

“Booooooooo.” Prompto gives a thumbs down and pulling his tongue out at him when Noctis dared to roll his eyes at him.

“It’ll be only for a couple hours, and then I’ll come back.” Prompto’s struggling to stay awake now, only keeping one eye cracked open to look.

“Promise?” He brandishes his hand with his pinky out, and Noctis graciously threads their pinkies together.

“Promise.” He bends down to kiss his cheek and he’s gone in a blink, leaving warmth on his hand and face and Prompto contemplates whether he should just stay up and wait until Noctis comes back just to spite him.

One more yawn fights its way through him and Prompto decides that sleeps sounds a lot better than waiting for an idiot to come back home. He gropes across his nightstand for his phone and fires off a message, drops it off somewhere back on the night stand and passes out, dreaming of what Noctis’ had to have gone through to look so sad while he held his hand.

* * *

**To: momtron 2000, grind never stops**

**ncotis saud that we make hin a mess lololol so tird gnght luv u 2 <33334333 zzzzzzzz**

**Author's Note:**

> will i ever write at a decent time of day


End file.
